Wheelchair tennis king makes Hall of Fame

Brad Parks of San Clemente hits a forehand on one of the tennis courts in San Luis Rey Park, San Clemente recently. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

1 of 8

Brad Parks of San Clemente heads into one of the tennis courts at San Luis Rey Park in San Clemente. He was recently inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Rhode Island. / MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

1 of 8

Brad Parks of San Clemente pioneered wheelchair tennis in Southern California back in the late '70s. He was recently inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Rhode Island. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

1 of 8

Brad Parks of San Clemente was recently inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Rhode Island. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

1 of 8

Brad Parks of San Clemente does a light workout at San Luis Rey Park in San Clemente. He was recently inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Rhode Island. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

1 of 8

Brad Parks of San Clemente demonstrates his serve at San Luis Rey Park in San Clemente. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

1 of 8

Brad Parks of San Clemente hits a forehand during a light workout for cameras at San Luis Rey Park in San Clemente. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

1 of 8

Brad Parks in his garage in San Clemente, unwraps the certificate, just recently arrived, that came with the honor of being inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Rhode Island. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Brad Parks of San Clemente hits a forehand on one of the tennis courts in San Luis Rey Park, San Clemente recently. MICHAEL GOULDING, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

You're 18 years old and speeding down an icy Utah mountain on a sunny winter day, dreams of becoming a professional freestyle skier one step closer to coming true.

You hit a jump and glide into a back flip like you've done hundreds of times before.

Only this time you come crashing down on your shoulders.

Now you can't feel your feet and your buddy is joking that he can't feel his feet either because it's freezing cold out. But you know he's just trying to make you feel better.

You're on a stretcher.

You're in a helicopter.

You're at a hospital and a doctor is saying you're paralyzed from the hips down.

Now fill in the blank. What do you think you would do next?

Cry? Curse God? Give up?

How about come up with Plan B. And then convince the entire country that Plan B isn't as crazy as it might sound.

"I was scared to death," Brad Parks says. "But I said to myself, 'OK, if I'm gonna be in a wheelchair. I'm gonna be the best I can be in a wheelchair.' In my mind I'm gonna train to be in the Olympics and my Olympics is gonna be 'The Best I can be in a Wheelchair.'"

Not only did Parks become the best he could be in a wheelchair, he went on to make hundreds of other people the best they could be in a wheelchair.

And, for that, last week he was inducted into the Tennis Hall of Fame.

Watch a video of Parks here:

•••

What makes a person like Parks tick? Is it intestinal fortitude, simply being born with a personality that finds hope in the face of whatever junk life throws at you, as it most certainly will?

Or is it faith, the fact that Parks believes that God has a plan, so why fight it?

The sign that a family friend taped to his hospital room wall after the accident sure didn't hurt: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, it read.

Brad had just one question: What kind of lemonade?

He had spent his teens hot dogging on the slopes, surfing big waves. Now what, he thought, lying in bed?

Tennis floated into his mind.

A week or so after getting out of rehab, Brad picked up a wooden racket (this was 1976), and rolled his wheelchair onto the courts to hit some balls with his dad Bill, a dentist, and his mom Larrie, a housewife. Back then, wheelchairs were still dinosaurs; bulky and slow. But he rolled himself over to some balls and – thwack – felt some of that old fire return.

Brad kept on playing at the tennis courts in his Niguel Shores neighborhood with whoever he could round up, mostly buddies. He had only one friend in a chair who lived nearby and that boy committed suicide within the year.

When Brad went back to rehab for his one month checkup, he was introduced to the new recreation therapist, a guy who just happened to play – wheelchair tennis. Jeff Minnebraker had even built his own chair in his garage so he could get around the court quicker. The two began playing, using a rule Jeff had come up with: letting the ball bounce twice.

About a year later, Jeff put together a tournament at Griffith Park. Less than 20 guys showed up, most wearing jeans. Brad was the only guy in a tennis outfit. The court had broken glass on it and a chain link net. But it was a court.

It was also the first ever wheelchair tennis tournament in history.

That fall Brad began studying business at UC Santa Barbara, hitting balls with the girls' tennis team, whenever he could. He quit school his senior year to help Jeff start a company custom making sports chairs. His heart wasn't in it though.

One day he was invited to do a wheelchair tennis demo at an Irvine park. Afterward, he and Dave Saltz, an Irvine tennis pro, got to talking – and the National Foundation of Wheelchair Tennis was born. Brad, Dave and Jim Worth, a young Brea man who had lost a leg in Vietnam, began barnstorming.

They took their rackets and a net on the road, setting up shop everywhere from a Clippers half-time show to a shopping mall in Seattle, to random parking lots. At one stop in Chicago, they got the members of the band Styx to come out and play them.

Brad and Jim would rally while Dave would commentate into a microphone, espousing the virtues of wheelchair tennis – a sport you can play with your able bodied friends, out in the fresh air and sunshine no less – and assuring nervous club owners the wheelchairs wouldn't crack their courts.

That summer, Brad was at the National Wheelchair Games in Illinois when he ran into a man who was, at the time, a leader in wheelchair sports.

"Brad, you're wasting your time," the man told him. Tennis is not a feasible wheelchair sport. In fact, the man had dedicated his thesis to proving it. He promised to mail Brad a copy.

A few months later, the first National Wheelchair Tennis Championships was held at Los Cab in Fountain Valley. How about that for a thesis?

Today there are 157 tournaments around the world (championships have been moved to St. Louis) and $1.5 million in prize money. Players in chairs also compete at the grand slams: The U.S. Open, Australian Open, French Open and Wimbledon.

Brad's journey came full circle this past winter.

He was driving with some buddies through Utah, just an hour or so away from hitting the slopes in Park City, where it all began back in '76, when he got the call that he was going to be inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame, joining legends like Billie Jean King and John McEnroe.

"Life isn't always fair, it isn't always fun and it isn't always easy," he told the crowd assembled for the ceremony last weekend in Newport, Rhode Island. "I believe things happen for a reason and sometimes it is not what we had planned for ourselves. But with a little faith and trust, often the reason is revealed down the road."

Related Links

User Agreement

Keep it civil and stay on topic. No profanity, vulgarity, racial
slurs or personal attacks. People who harass others or joke about
tragedies will be blocked. By posting your comment, you agree to
allow Orange County Register Communications, Inc. the right to
republish your name and comment in additional Register publications
without any notification or payment.